


The Path of Destiny

by LeastExpected_Archivist



Category: The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2002-02-04
Updated: 2002-02-04
Packaged: 2021-03-06 06:07:29
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,547
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25688566
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LeastExpected_Archivist/pseuds/LeastExpected_Archivist
Summary: by ACPart of the "Folly of Starlight" series.
Relationships: Elrond Peredhel/Legolas Greenleaf
Kudos: 4
Collections: Least Expected





	The Path of Destiny

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Amy Fortuna, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [Least Expected](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Least_Expected), which has been offline since 2002. To preserve the archive, I began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in August 2017. I e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on the [Least Expected collection profile](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/leastexpected/profile).

"No love, no friendship can cross the path of our destiny without leaving some mark on it forever." love and folly?"

Arwen snuggled up more tightly against her father's back, resting a cheek against the silky hardness of his robe-draped shoulder. "I cannot say, but if they be so, then I cannot wait for the day the madness overtakes me."

Sliding out of her embrace, Elrond turned around and recaptured the delicate fingers in his, raising them to his lips for a gentle kiss. "Be careful what you wish for, Arwen, for your life will never be the same afterward."

His daughter seemed to ignore his words, instead peering over his shoulder, a beaming smile unfurling across her lips. "It seems your wishes have found Elbereth's favor," she sweetly teased.

Pivoting around, Elrond relinquished the breath he was not aware he had held at the most welcome sight of the pale perfection of elfish features. "Legolas," he whispered in the eager rush of exhalation.

"I am glad I am not forgotten," the prince playfully teased, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. Taking several steps closer, he entered the archway and bowed. "Lady Arwen, it is a pleasure to see you again."

"As it is to see you." A knowing smile twitching her lips, Arwen hurriedly pressed a kiss against her father's cheek, then walked past him toward the exit from which Legolas had just entered. "I told my father we would see the first green leaf arrive early this year." Pressing the barest hint of a chaste kiss against the prince's cheek, she caught his gaze and held it for a moment. "See if you can cleanse the remaining cynicism from his heart." Pausing, she leaned closer to the prince and whispered too low for her father to hear, "A shower of your kisses would be an excellent place to begin." Smug in the hint of heat she knew to be arising in the prince's cheeks, she flashed her father one last look over her shoulder, then elegantly strolled past them into the night.

The lovers stood enveloped within a frozen instant of time, neither taking that first step forward, both utterly mesmerized by the long-missed sight of each other. A study in stunning contrast they were, Elrond dressed for a night's rest, in only the plush envelope of his flowing robe, his head unadorned save for the other's gift, while Legolas was constrained by the multiple layers of his travel garb, his bow and quiver still slung over one shoulder.

"Have you just arrived?" Elrond inquired warily, shuffling a slow step forward.

Legolas clutched his bow with both hands, his fingers stroking seductively along the smooth wood. "Yes. A sentry is seeing to my horse."

The elder elf pursed his lips, closing the space between them even further with another agonizingly slothful step. "You would travel alone at night? You take great risks, Legolas."

"No more than spending another night alone on the road." There was the barest hint of insult in that retort, and yet the smile which instantly followed belied that affront. This was merely Elrond's way, concerned beyond the situation's need, yet always with the best of intentions. It could prove a serious test of Legolas' humor, if it ever escalated, but for now it was merely an integral component of the Lord of Rivendell's inscrutable charm.

As if sensing the accusation in his words, Elrond smiled sweetly, forded the invisible river which separated them, and tenderly cupped his hands to frame the wide-eyed, passion-drenched expression which called to him. "I am glad you did not spend an extra night alone," he whispered sultrily, a tremble of a smile on his lips before he brushed the most feathery of kisses against the enticing mouth.

Exhaling in a moan of shivered delight, Legolas instinctively wound his arms low around the other's hips and pulled their bodies together, claiming those torturously fleeting lips in the most urgent of embraces.

Elrond stiffened ever so slightly, mindful that they were not in a place of discretion, then succumbed to the heady ardor of heedless youthful exuberance. The sound of unusually heavy, exaggerated elfish footsteps managed to sink through the buoyant bubbles of joy swimming through his brain, and he instinctively stepped back, fleeing guiltily from Legolas embrace.

A familiar friend stepped into view, his expression a mixture of uneasy hesitation and sly knowledge. "A pardon for the interruption, my Lord," he offered sincerely. "But the sentry did not know where to deliver Prince Legolas' things. I wished to tell you I have taken them straight to your private quarters."

Elrond arched an eyebrow, apparently preparing to feign denial, then caught the sparkle in Glorfindel's eye and realized it was as futile as reversing the course of the waterfall behind him. Instead, he merely nodded his silent thanks.

Smiling, Glorfindel welcomed Mirkwood's prince with a warrior's arm clasp. "How is the leg? Certainly well enough to travel."

"Much better," Legolas happily reported. "Nary a pain to be felt."

"What of the scar?"

"Nearly gone, as you said." Pausing, he dared shoot stiff-lipped Elrond a sultry half-smile. "I am sure it will suffer close inspection soon enough."

His eyes narrowing in palpable disapproval, Elrond softly growled, "Legolas -- mind your tongue."

"Ignore his grousing," Glorfindel laughingly offered. "'Tis a symptom of his advanced age. The people of Imladris rejoice at your arrival, Legolas. The word has already spread through the valley that the first green leaf of the season has arrived -- and the most important. They say you bring spring with you from the east." The mischievous smile painted across his face widened even further. "They joyously sing that the frost has finally left their Lord's heart, after the most bitter of winters." Noting the abject horror of embarrassment on Elrond's face, Glorfindel gently squeezed the prince's shoulder, then turned on his heels to leave. "Enjoy the night, and each other, while we leave you in peace. The valley has offered you both a blind eye and a deaf ear until dawn. See to it that you do not waste a moment in unneeded modesty and restraint." With a final flash of a smile, he hustled out of view, raising his voice in joyous song as a signal to the rest of Elrond's most loyal subjects.

Legolas watched Glorfindel depart, then turned back to face his mortified lover, an expression of sympathetic embarrassment joining the hint of color in his face. "We should do as he suggests," he offered hesitantly, slowly stepping forward. "We would not wish to offend him, or the rest of your kind subjects."

"Indeed, that would be most improper," Elrond offered calmly, his composure temporarily restored. "I would not wish to offend, or disappoint...." With an uncharacteristically roguish smile briefly unfurling upon his lips, he reclaimed the golden prince into his embrace and decisively ended the wasted effort of conversation. All they could ever wish to say flowed through their mouths upon the wings of their impassioned kisses.

Part 2:  


They lingered in the breathless reunion of their kiss until the ache of need seated far lower in their flesh demanded immediate and decisive attention. With a moan of momentary regret, Legolas pulled away, smiled sweetly and claimed one of the other's hands in his. With hushed elfish footsteps, he led them through the narrow path which looped around the archway toward Elrond's private chambers, but instead of taking the natural route up the stone carved stairs, he gently directed them underneath and into the semi-private sitting area overlooking the great falls.

Up to that time wordless in the thrill of his anticipation, Elrond now whispered a disappointment-borne query. "You do not wish to hurry off to my bed?"

Legolas spun slowly into Elrond's awaiting embrace, capturing the concern-furrowed face with tenderly framing fingertips. "Not this night. I want you under the stars."

The seductive catch in the other's voice sent tumbling waves of delight cascading through the elder elf's body. "Is it not too cold for that, Legolas?" he whispered, his lover's name trailing off into a clearly discernable moan at the tormentingly sensual sensation of his cloth veiled need firmly pressed against its equally demandful partner.

Legolas trailed sweet, fleeting kisses along the lord's neck, kneading his undeniable arousal against the other's with purposeful hips. "When has it ever been cold when your body is wrapped in mine?" With the briefest of pauses, to drink in an ephemeral sip of Elrond's passion-clouded gaze, he claimed the questioning mouth with deeply tongued kisses, intent on replacing all unnecessary uncertainties with the wordless conviction of devotion. Graceful steps backed him out of the ever tightening embrace, just before flight became impossible. "Wait here -- I wish to shed all reminders of the road." With a smile, he raised one of Elrond's hands to his lips, tenderly kissed the palm, pressed it to his heart, then departed on fleeting feet, leaving the other breathless and flushed with the frustration of far too many days and nights apart.

Elrond watched him depart, a sigh upon his lips and a pang of momentary loss in heart. <<Inscrutable, indeed, are the ways of the young.>> A smile blessed his lips at the thought that lessons learned at the prince's hands could prove far more pleasurable that most. The sigh was given voice while Elrond turned toward the persistent echo of the raging falls beyond. Adjusting his robes around him, he claimed a seat upon the full lengthed divan, and did what he realized he was doomed to do wherever and whenever the golden prince was concerned -- he waited. His mind wandered through the time-dimmed halls of memory and recalled the last time he and Legolas had sat in this very spot -- when the company of elves from Mirkwood had arrived unannounced and taken their prince away from him.

<<And now he has returned. But where is he?>> Elrond chuckled softly, amused at his own sudden, uncharacteristic lack of patience. He mused that it must be yet another symptom of the prince's influence upon him, like the smile so often on his face and the sweet song perpetually playing in his heart. The sound of eager breath and the gentle rustling of fabric borne on the wings of nearly silent elfish feet caught his attention, and he turned back to see a most welcome sight emerging from the shadows.

Legolas stood several feet before him, wrapped in a thick blanket from his bed, a beguiling smile hinting at devilish intent written across that beguiling face. Without a word, the prince stepped closer, and let the blanket slide from his shoulders with a nearly silent swish. The padded fabric pooled around his bare feet, revealing him to be dressed only in a newer twin of the silver shirt whose ribbon of a shred Elrond guiltily secreted beneath his pillow.

Eager not to waste another moment of night's discrete cover, Elrond completed the long delayed journey into the other's awaiting embrace. Lips sought and found their reflection in the taste and touch of the other's, fingers tangled through silken tresses the hue of sunlight and evening. Tracing his mouth across the prominent arch of a cheekbone, Elrond buried his nose in the forest scented braided silk, then trailed tongue-lap punctuated kisses down the sensitive neck, raising a shiver in the prince's flawless, passion-warmed flesh. "What of this infamous scar?" he whispered breathlessly, his fingers slowly snaking down to the hem of Legolas' shirt.

With a mischievous smile, Legolas pulled away, paused deliberately, then ever so leisurely spun around, lifting the hem of his shirt to more clearly reveal the backs of this thighs -- and tantalizingly nothing more. His fingers dancing against the night chilled sides of those taut, well toned thighs, Elrond fell to his knees to begin his inspection in earnest. The fingers of one hand feathered across the back of the injured thigh, tracing along the slight depression in the otherwise blemish-free skin. Lips blessed the barely perceptible scar, washing away any memory of pain with tender tongue laps, and replacing with it with the joyful shudder of arousal.

Elrond slid two fingers between the muscle framed V of the slightly parted legs, along the smooth nether world of skin separating the twinned pleasures of those most obvious to the eye, and those most hidden. To his surprise, he was rewarded by far more than the tremble of his lover's body, and the tremulous sound of his name whispered upon the night air. Detecting both slipperiness and the musky scent of his favorite bath oil, Elrond smiled into the imperfect skin. <<So now I know what delayed his return to my awaiting embrace.>>

With a contented, knowing smile, he withdrew his inquiring fingers and slid his thumb between the pertly rounded globes. The other's legs parted even further to facilitate access, the prince leaning forward and bracing his hands on the fronts of his hips for balance against the onslaught of ecstatic foreshocks of pleasure soon to be visited upon him. Elrond swiped the pad of his thumb across the secreted entrance and found it to be more slippery and welcoming than the flesh he had already explored. With only the slightest pressure he breached the muscled constriction, then withdrew, only to repeat his motions in a rhythm timed with the laps of his tongue along the ticklish path where leg ended and more erotic flesh began. Thus he continued pleasuring his most eager of partners, throaty moans of encouragement humming through the night.

Leaning back on his heels, Elrond finally withdrew both his lips and his hands and regained his feet in time to reclaim Legolas in a succulent full body embrace. Gently pushing back from the other's reluctantly releasing grasp, he stepped back and slid the robe from his body, then slickened his own tumescent need with the hint of oil still remaining on one hand. A shiver of anticipatory delight rippled through him as he watched the veil of a silver shirt swiftly withdrawn from the other's slender form. No sooner had the embroidery touched the stones beneath their feet than Elrond grasped one of the other's hands and pulled him back to the divan.

Together they tumbled onto the awaiting combination of body-length cushion and carelessly tossed pillows, a graceful tangle of intertwined lips and limbs. Somehow they settled into a more segregated choreography, with the elder elf on the bottom, claiming the mouth of the limber golden prince who straddled his legs. Under the sanctifying clarity of starlight and the muted hues of Rivendell's candles they reacquainted themselves with all they had to give, skin to skin, soul to soul, texture and taste far more important than the grosser senses of sight and sound.

Shifting his knees more securely on either side of Elrond's hips, Legolas leaned up, breaking the kiss, and sat upon the comfort of the other's stomach, resting back against the tumid flesh that urgently pressed along the cleft in his posterior cheeks. Shivering in the sensation, he arched forward and claimed the other's mouth, raising Elrond's arms over his head and pinning them back to one upcurved arm of the divan. The kiss continued and did not wane, becoming an ever more fervent and demanding taskmaster. Like the constant crashing of the ocean waves Elrond had once so vividly described to him, Legolas lay continual claim to the warmth of that wanton cavern, and paid fond worship to the altar of the plush petal of a lower lip and ever tempting tongue.

Mindful of the tension pressing most urgently against his body, as well as his own weeping need trapped between their bellies, he pushed up on fully extended arms, swiped owning tongue laps across the side of the other's neck, hovering over the pulsing vein, then back across the slightly parted lips. Losing the will to delay any further the inevitability of the attainment of heavenly bliss, he pressed a smothering parting kiss upon Elrond's mouth, and leaned back onto his knees. Raising his body upward, he grasped behind himself to claim the self-slickening steel, positioned himself directly above, and with agonizing slowness sank down upon it.

A shudder rang through the prince at the unique and indescribably intimate sensation of being breached, his well-prepared flesh accepting the other's sensual presence with only the barest twinge of pleasure-dressed pain. Pausing with held breath to adjust to the feeling of being filled, owned, and completed, he then finished the motion, laying claim to all Elrond offered. He sank down until he sat upon the other's abdomen, moaning in the exquisite joy of being so completely at one with the object of his desire. Catching his breath, he slowly rose up upon his knees one more, enjoying the sensation of Elrond trembling beneath him, and the knowledge that he, alone, was the sole cause of that overwhelming delight.

At the top of his rise, Legolas closed his eyes and hovered in the quiet space between delights denied and delights achieved, raking trembling fingers through the golden mane of his own hair. He felt his hands instantly claimed from below, and opened his eyes to catch the most smoldering gaze of indisputable insistence and naked need imaginable. With a hint of a knowing smile upon his lips, he eager used the outstretched arms which clasped onto his hands to bear his weight and steady his motions.

His head carelessly thrown back, his hair cascading down his back, Mirkwood's prince rode the Lord of Imladris as his favorite steed, his lips crying forth the depths of his ecstasy without mind for the audience of any living being save the one who blessed him with such pleasures. Feeling the sensations of pleasure wracking his body reaching their pinnacle, Legolas wrenched free a single hand and wrapped its fingers around his own begging flesh, only to find his hand adamantly swatted away and replaced with another's.

More than content with his lover's further pleasuring of his flesh, Legolas closed his eyes, threw back his head once more, and succumbed to the dueling delights which thrummed through him. The name of Rivendell's lord reverberated through the valley in a chorus of staccato screams, the warm stream of his own release coating his lover's chest even as the other's shuddered tributary flooded through him.

Darkness welcomed them within its grasp, the candles of Imladris extinguishing one by one as though fireflies heading off to the bed of dawn. Together they lay upon the divan, wrapped in the snuggled comfort of the thick feather-filled comforter and each other's arms. If any moment in Middle-earth had ever come close to rivaling the legendary joys of the Blessed Lands, it was surely this. His heart ablaze with songs of devotion and passion immeasurable, and contentment unimaginable, Legolas spooned up behind the elder elf and secured the position he wished to maintain until the sun returned. With a smile he noted the familiar silver clasp proudly nested in the other's dark forest of hair, and tenderly brushed against it before pressing his lips firmly against that soft passion-mussed mane. "I see you received my gift."

"Received it, and have much appreciated it," Elrond quietly answered, clasping the other's hand to his chest. "I assume there is more to it than meets the eye."

"Yes, but that can wait until the morning. All I wish to hear for now is your heartbeat, and the forest beyond." Pressing a final kiss against Elrond's shoulder, Legolas exhaled in a sigh of utter contentment and awaited the arrival of the elfish bliss of dreams.

Part 3:

Legolas was roused from his pleasant, Rivendell-filled dreams by an insistent tickling of his nose. Wrinkling it to dislodge the uncomfortable sensation from his flesh, he found that he only made matters worse, by increasing the contact with the irritation's source. Smiling, he instead buried his face further into the wild dark tresses, pressing gentle kisses along the still respectably neat braid. It reminded the prince of Elrond himself, always retaining some semblance of control, even while giving in to the freedom of unbridled passion.

Reluctantly raising his head from its elf-shaped pillow, he glanced over the stone wall at their side and across the forest, recognizing the barest silvering of the eastern sky had already begun its diurnal display. This was the time of day he loved best, and at home he frequently slid from the cavernous halls of his father's palace in time to watch the night bid its reluctant farewell to Middle-earth while the day eagerly raced in to take its place. With a smile of enthusiasm and the purity of newborn love he searched the other for any sense of consciousness, but found Elrond to be deeply enthralled in the rapture of his own dreams. Loathe to interrupt the muted expression of bliss on his lover's face, Legolas instead pressed a barely felt kiss against the side of Elrond's cheek, then carefully slid from underneath the thick quilt and set off to enjoy the sun's return alone.

The chill of the spring dawn prickled his flesh, the stone floor beneath his feet both refreshing and vexing. With a final smiled glance back at the peaceful visage peering out from its blanket-wrapped cocoon, Legolas collected the lord's discarded robe from the ground and wrapped himself within it. It was somewhat large for his taste, but provided more than ample warmth, and the lingering scent of its rightful owner brought additional heat to Legolas' flesh. Craning his neck, he surveyed the layout of the great Bruinen Valley, and decided he would find a much more advantageous viewpoint farther down along the path closer to the main bridge. With a smile of contentment brushed across his lips and a song of love's sweet pleasures chorusing in his heart, he silently hustled under the stairs and into the heart of Rivendell.

\----------------------------

Her eyes patiently awaiting the first golden streaks of dawn's true light, the Evenstar watched the celestial diamonds of night slowly dim from view above her head. A sigh murmured from her throat as she stood in the archway alone. On many mornings of late, she and her father had enjoyed this most peaceful of the day's moments together. No longer -- he had a far more delicious invitation to accept. To say she was jealous would be in error, yet there was still a hint of childish regret tucked away in a tiny corner of her heart. She and her father had always been close, even more so since her mother's departure from Middle-earth. Dividing her time between her grandparent's magical wood and the lyrical valley of her birth left even less precious time to spend in the company of her father. <<You shall just have to share him. Surely your heart is large enough -- as is his.>> An elegant hint of a smile graced her lips at the thought of the happiness sparkling in his eyes when Legolas had arrived those hours before. If she ever had any doubt as to the depth of devotion each felt for the other, last night's reunion surely removed it forever from her mind.

The love unmistakably afire in their eyes, as well as the sound of her father's name cried in the strangled tones of passion heard upon the wings of the wind some time later.

Closing her eyes, she found she could still hear Legolas' voice nearly as vividly as when it had first found her ears. <<Lady Elbereth, allow me to hear my name spoken just once with as much love, and I will have been graced more than I dare hope.>> The soft shuffle of heavy robes shifting around a walking body caught her ear, and she turned back toward the path in time to see a familiar outline. "Father?" she queried, not certain whether she was more joyful to see him or disappointed that he had left his own pleasures behind.

The form halted, then stepped tentatively into the increasing illumination of the dawn. "No, Lady Arwen. Your father still enjoys his dreams. I... I wished to watch the sun rise. I hope I have not disturbed your solitude."

The smile brightened further on Arwen's face, as she extended a delicate welcoming hand to the sheepish prince. "Then let him have his dreams, Legolas. Come -- we shall watch the dawn together." She waited patiently until he accepted her offered hand, then captured his other fingers as well. Holding him out in front of her, she carefully surveyed his appearance. "You appear as a prince of Imladris now. Should I expect to see my father adorned in the green forest attire of Mirkwood?"

"That would, indeed, be a rare treat," Legolas laughingly replied. "I rather think it would become him."

"As do his robes you," Arwen warmly volleyed back. "As you do each other." Noting the awkward acceptance of her heartfelt compliment, she released one of Legolas' hands and tugged him to the edge of the archway to better watch the increasing silvering of the eastern horizon. "My father and I have seen far too many sunrises to count, yet each is special, unique in its own way. They never seem to unfold exactly the same way twice."

"No, they don't." A weighty sigh stained the prince's lips, his eyes momentarily drawn away from the sky to the distance of memory's call. "This is when I miss them most -- both of them. I do not recall much of the details of those early days of my childhood, but I will never forget how much they both adored the dawn." His lips curled slightly in a bittersweet smile. "My mother so loved the dawn she gave its name to her first child, my sister. She brought my mother much joy...." His voice trailed off to a whisper. "Yet much pain."

Arwen curled tenderly into his private space, brushing the fingers of her free hand against his cheek. "Father has never spoken to me of your family, save to mention the bitterness between he and your father over events of the Last Alliance, and the death of your grandfather."

"He would have no reason to, as he most probably does not know more than that, himself." Legolas drank in the sincere empathy in the Evenstar's sapphire eyes and found he missed his own sister even more gravely than before. "I have never spoken of my family to him, nor to anyone. Perhaps I have lived too long under my father's prohibition to bring myself to break it, even while outside his lands."

"Prohibition? He forbids you to speak of your own kin?"

"Only my sister, directly, but none who speak of my mother in his presence attain his favor." Forcing a facsimile of a smile to his lips, despite his pain, he stared over Arwen's shoulder at the very first gilded gleam of sunlight piercing the heart of night like the mighty Aeglos itself. "Minuial would have found the dawns of Imladris irresistible," he sadly whispered. "As have I."

"Tell me of her," Arwen urged as she turned back to face the east, sensing the prince's need to give expression to the wounds so tightly bound in his soul.

"They say she was more of a sister than a daughter to my mother, so alike they were in temperament and fairness," Legolas began, his eyes searching beyond the dawn for the memories of his younger days. "They whisper in the palace that I am more alike to them than my father, the words always sounding like more like an insult than the honor I take them to mean. Brethilas favors my father in all things, and has proven himself the perfect heir to inherit the throne of Mirkwood." A pain-colored chuckle rumbled in his throat. "My father had both his dutiful heir, and his hope of a marriage of alliance with the Sindar of the Grey Havens, when the time was right. I proved to be an unexpected and perplexing problem."

"You do yourself a grave disservice, speaking of yourself in that manner, Legolas," Arwen gently warned. "Surely your parents rejoiced at your birth."

"My mother's joy was preserved in song, which she sang to me as my favorite lullaby while in the cradle. My father saw to my education in the court, and provided proper tutors. Yet it was from my sister and mother that I learned of the forest's beauty, and that of the stars."

"It seems you learned the most important lessons from them, indeed."

Legolas chuckled softly. "My father would sharply disagree. A keen eye for the arrow's target and a silver tongue for trade negotiations are all he cares I possess. The rest provide unneeded distractions."

"You father is, indeed, a pauper, despite his hoard of gold and jewels," Arwen softly observed. Noting that the prince did not disagree, she allowed her curiosity to rule her head. "You speak of your mother and sister as ones no longer in your life. Did they sail into the West, like my mother?"

The dawn's ever strengthening rays illuminated the pain in the prince's eyes so deeply that his spoken answer seemed superfluous. "They left Middle-earth, but for Mandos' halls."  


Part 4:

Arwen was left speechless, honestly not anticipating this melancholy of an answer. As much as she missed her mother, the thought that Celebrian still lived, in the Blessed Lands beyond, and had left of her own choosing, brought much relief to Arwen's heart. "I am so sorry, Legolas," she whispered, pressing a comforting kiss upon his cheek. "I had no idea."

The pain continued unabated in those sea-hued eyes, the prince now doomed to relive the aches only partially dulled by the passage of years, the memories of the time some part of his innocence ceased to be. "Above my father's palace there is a high cliff, ringed by a narrow pass too dangerous for a horse to travel. In the past, my father's sentries used it to watch for the approach of men from Dale, or dwarves from the Lonely Mountain. My sister would sometimes creep up its winding path before dawn, to catch the very first hint of the day approaching." A smile crinkled the corners of his mouth. "Once, she brought me along with her. She must have tired of my constant whining that I was big enough to go with her. My father did not look kindly upon our adventure," he admitted with a hint of a chuckle.

His expression became more grave, more pained, the distance in his eyes increasing as he continued in hushed tones. "She openly disobeyed my father, returning to her favorite lookout before the moon had completed one cycle." Legolas paused, squeezed shut his eyes, and gripped Arwen's hand with bloodless tightness. "The rains had fallen hard that night, and the ground was slick and treacherous. She lost her footing, and...." He could not give voice to the rest of his tortured tale, his words dying in a sharp sob in his throat.

Wrapping her arms around the prince's shoulders, Arwen collected him into a reassuring embrace, stroking his hair even as the tears dampened her neck. Her eyes soon grew moist, the wetness freely running down her cheeks as she shared Legolas' palpable pain. She could not even contemplate the agony of losing one of her brothers in such a senseless accident. And yet, there remained one further source of pain unspoken in Legolas' tale. For just as the Eldar race could fall victim to the shattering of one's body, the breaking of one's heart could prove just as tragic and fatal. "Your mother could not bear the loss," she whispered, more a statement of the full depth of the tragedy than a question.

"She perished that very night," Legolas whispered through his tears. "I wished to remain with her while she cried, to try and bring her some comfort, but my father would not let me. He thought it wrong for me to be drowned in womanly tears." Sniffing back his own waterfall, Legolas hastily brushed the embarrassing lack of self control from his face and loosened Arwen's embrace from around his shoulders. "I sometimes blame myself for her death. If I had been older, if I had stood up to my father, if I had stopped Minuial from sneaking off that morning." He paused and smiled slightly as Arwen gently brushed the remainder of a tear from his cheek. "If only I had gone with her...."

"Then you both would be dead, and your mother's grief twice as impossible to bear," Arwen forcefully explained. Her voice softened, her face lighting with a delicate kiss of a smile. "And my father would still be lost in the depths of his own constant nightfall. That is a pain I could not bear to see continue." Grasping the prince's hands once more, she squeezed the fingers affectionately. "Your sister has passed beyond the veil, and yet you carry on a spark of her within yourself. You continue to bring the dawn to the darkness of the world, and my father's life. For that, she would be most proud, as would your mother."

"And what of *your* mother, Arwen? Would she think so kindly of my place in your father's heart, and his bed?"

<<Such fear of ghosts and memories. I hope my father's kisses can put both in their proper places, before Legolas consumes himself with his doubts.>> "There was no great love between my parents, despite the illusions my brothers may carry in their anger and hurt. You spoke of your father's desire to forge an alliance between his land and that of Lindon at the expense of your sister's heart. My grandparents did the very same. Oh, there was a genuine fondness between them, and my father treated my mother as a precious treasure in his house. But love? That has been absent from my father's bed from a time long before their marriage. Do not feel you insult my mother with your affections, Legolas. She would wish him to find the happiness she, herself, could not bring to him."

Smiling at the lingering obstinate guilt and uncertainty paining the prince's expressive features, Arwen gently squeezed his captive hands. "I, too, have learned much from my father, and as you know well, not all of the lessons taught by our parents are sweet. I have learned of loneliness and duty, loss and regrets. But, thanks to you, I have also borne witness to the birth of great love right before my eyes. Of all the lessons I have learned in Imladris, I hold this one most dear -- that true love does not merely exist in song and myth. It can exist *here*." Gently raising one of their conjoined hands, she pressed it against Legolas' chest. "I would envy you greatly, Legolas, and yet I know this love does not come without the threat of grave consequences and difficult choices."

"I fear that is always the price of love," the prince calmly retorted, a sense of wisdom-born serenity and willing acceptance in his voice.

"You sound more like my father each time we talk," Arwen offered with a smile. Her expression grew more serious, yet ever lovely and hopeful. "If that be true, then I freely accept the burden, so long as I can taste the joy I see in his eyes, and in yours."  
  
Struck by the loneliness and longing in that passionate answer, Legolas raised her hands to his lips for a tender kiss. "Your time will come, my Lady. When it is least expected, and most needed. It will sweep you away like the mighty river itself, and wash away your past pains, even as it replaces them with its own share of new difficulties to overcome." He squeezed her hand and returned it to his chest, laying it over his heart. "I swear to you, as if you were my own sister, that when that time arrives, I will do all in my power to lessen the weight of those choices, so you may more freely rejoice in the happiness you so richly deserve."

Arwen beamed the prince a brilliant smile, the morning's arrival completing with a stream of its golden rays illuminating her face.

"Conspiring against me?" a playfully gruff voice interrupted from behind the pair.

Legolas and Arwen parted and turned toward the voice, amused smiles widening across their faces at the sight of a more than slightly disheveled Elrond, dressed only in a thick blanket awkwardly wrapped around his body. "Only to rob you of your clothes," Legolas teasingly replied.

"Then it appears the conspiracy has been a success." Slowly shuffling into the archway, the tail of the blanket dragging across the stone floor behind him in a most undignified manner, Elrond warily studied his lover and the familiar robe he wore with an arched eyebrow. "When might I expect their return?"

"Father, forget your clothes and return to your bed, and the prince's arms," Arwen cajoled musically. Pressing a final kiss on the side of Legolas' face, she whispered, "I may yet hold you to that promise, my champion."

"I look forward to it," Legolas whispered in reply, lingering in her fleeting embrace. He watched as Arwen kissed her father and danced out of view, leaving them alone yet certainly not lonely. "I apologize for stealing your robe," he offered tenderly, stepping closer to the elder elf. "I *did* leave you my shirt," he explained huskily, sliding his hands into the gap in the fabric Elrond so tenaciously clung to his body. "However, I much prefer you in something less... restricting." With a mischievous smile flickering across his lips, he claimed the other's mouth, sliding his hands under the blanket and around the smooth warmth of his lover's skin.

"Enough about talk of clothes, Malthenel-nin," Elrond growled in a whisper, briefly sinking his teeth into the self-assured lower lip. "Let us do as my daughter suggested. You have been gone far too long, and I have not had my fill of you, yet"

Smiling at the multiple shades of meaning in that need-driven request, Legolas demanded one last loudly suckled kiss, then retreated his touch from under the blanket and insistently grasped one of Elrond's hands in his. "As you insist. A night shared under the stars, and a day spent under your bedclothes, should satiate even *your* appetite." <<Or not.>> With *that* sweetest of possibilities singing through his flesh, Legolas started to lead them toward the stairs, but found his motion halted by an insistent, resistant tug. Turning back to discover the problem, he found Elrond gently cupping the branch of a delicate young tree in his hand.

"See, Greenleaf, you have, indeed, brought all your kin back to Imladris," Elrond happily noted, brushing his thumb against the still unfurling cluster of emerald. "Let us now properly celebrate the arrival of spring, as well as your return."

<<My return to the only place I can now truly call home,>> Legolas mused in his heart, winding his arms back around the blanket wrapped frame to lose himself in the destiny of the other's awaiting embrace.  


The End

**Author's Note:**

> Some quick notes:
> 
> * The nickname, "Malthenel-nin" [My golden star] has turned up in several stories thus far.
> 
> * The butterfly hair clasp, the scar, and some of the facts behind Legolas' family history, were discussed in "Though I am Young and Cannot Tell" 
> 
> * Canon says very little of Legolas' family, except that his father was Thranduil, the "Elf King" of "The Hobbit." In keeping with posted theories about his age and family, I have given him two older siblings. "Minuial" is Sindarin for "dawn" (more precisely, the time near dawn when the stars fade). "Brethilas" is "silver birch leaf."


End file.
